My 100th Death Was His First Regret

My "gift" made me the perfect target for a mob boss - an endless blood bank for his dying lover.

Even when I bled out and died, the second I came back, that needle would find my vein again. When I begged for mercy, he'd just pin me down and sneer, "Stop the theatrics. You don't stay dead, do you? If she dies, I'll send you straight to hell after her!"

What he didn't know? I only had 100 lives left. One more death after this, and my soul would shatter forever.

The silk sheets rustled as Lucas Turner pushed me onto his ridiculously expensive bed, his body pressing against mine. His breath was warm against my neck, fingers tracing my lips before crushing his mouth to mine. Just as my hands tangled in his hair, some idiot servant burst in.

Lucas was about to rip their head off when—

"Mr. Turner! It's Miss White—she's crashing!"

Like flipping a switch, his anger vanished. Didn't even let me grab a robe before dragging me out half-naked. Didn't take a genius to guess—Lily White needed another transfusion.

Ninety-eight times in three years. Ninety-eight times I'd died for her.

Back then? I'd have volunteered, just to see Lucas smile at me. Now? I was on my knees, clawing at the marble floor.

"Lucas, please—I can't do this again! The next one will kill me for good—"

He scoffed, hauling me up like a ragdoll. "Cut the crap. You always come back. Lily's dying, and you're being selfish!"

Tears cut tracks down my face as I shook my head. "It's true! I only get a hundred lives! Two more and I'm gone—"

"Bullshit!" Lucas snarled, dragging me toward the medical suite. "You'll say anything to watch Lily suffer!"

My bare feet scraped raw against the stairs. He didn't care that my ribs might crack from how hard he was gripping me—just needed his precious Lily faster.

The operating table was cold when he threw me down, straps biting into my wrists.

"Lily? Talk to me," Lucas begged, voice breaking.

The doctor shook his head. "Her vitals are dropping, sir."

Lily fluttered her lashes—totally conscious but playing dead—and whimpered, "Lucas...am I dying?"

I thrashed so hard the IV nearly ripped out. Lucas backhanded me hard enough to see stars.

"Move again and I'll kill you myself!"

So I stopped fighting. The physical pain? Nothing compared to the knife twisting in my chest.

The world faded to black.

Then—light. Lucas cradling me like something precious, holding a spoon to my lips.